Good Girl Revenge

A senseless gabble of sound came from D.J. Mack. Bluette, with a haughty sniff at the Flirty Boy, bent again to her delicious task and applied herself with vigor. Maeve came like the Fourth of July, one dazzling series of explosions after another, wailing a long and drawn-out "Oh, God!" in that clear, unmistakable voice.

Lance, whose timing excelled and who was ever the showman, went off at that moment too, grunting like a lion and spouting like a whale.

"Oh, God," Maeve said, this time in a strengthless gasp. Still with eyes tightly shut, she half-rolled onto her side and draped one thigh over the other, shuddering in reaction.

Bluette rocked back on her heels, licking her pouty lips and purring and in all ways acting the cat who'd just been at the cream. She pretended to be ignoring D.J., but actually kept a close eye on him as the shellshocked look on his face gave way to one of slow but incredulously dawning awareness.

Maeve scrambled to her feet, that gorgeous hair flying around her, stark naked and beautiful, high color in her cheeks and sparks snapping from the blued-steel of her eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?" She delivered the line, F-word and all, with brilliant anger and purpose. Bluette could have applauded.

"What are you doing?" D.J. shot back.

An insane but brief urge to yell "Wazzuuuuup!" seized Bluette. She resisted, keen to see if her coaching had paid off.

It had. Maeve glared at D.J. as if she could fry him to a grease-spot with the power of her fury. "Get the hell out, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"But... no, hey..." D.J. looked from her to Bluette – idly stroking her own breasts just to rattle him – back to Maeve. A greedy piggish glint had come into his eyes. "Hey... I'm cool... I'm not mad."

"You dumped me, or did you forget?"

"That was... hey, that was before I knew... I thought you were --"

"I know what you thought I was," hissed Maeve. "You thought I was a nice girl. I thought you were a nice boy. Looks like we both had our secrets!"

"I guess he didn't know you very well," Bluette said. "What a dumbass."

"Maeve, honey, listen to me. We... um... why don't I just..." He kind of flapped his hand at his shirt buttons. "We can work it out. I know we can. I made a mistake."

"I'll say!" Maeve said. "Get out."

"No, don't be like that... you want to have fun with other girls, hey, believe me, that's A-OK with me!" He probably didn't realize how pleading, how desperate, he sounded.

D.J. swallowed with an audible click, rasped his tongue across his lips, gorged on Bluette and Maeve with his gaze, and bobbed his head like one of those tacky spring-necked dogs found in the rear windows of cars.

"Yeah, right," sneered Bluette.

"Hey, aren't you one of the Flirty Boys?" asked Lance, as if he hadn't known, though of course Bluette had given him the whole story beforehand when she'd set all of this up.

"You want to stay," Maeve said again. "You really want to stay. You like the idea of two women going at it, is that it?"

Bobbing, faster, that rear-window dog in a car going over train-tracks at high speed.

Bluette suddenly knew where Maeve was headed with this and held back, with effort, a hard-edged grin of admiration. Hadn't taken much to bring out her inner bad girl, after all! Lance picked up on it too and looked at Bluette with a tilt of the head as if to ask if he was really hearing that. She nodded slyly.

"You think," Maeve went on, "that we'd want you to join in."

"Sure," said D.J. "Girl-girl, that's only the warm-up act."

Maeve planted her fists on her hips, jutting her perky little breasts arrogantly at him. "Well, I tell you what. I've always wondered about watching two men together. Why don't you and Lance there do a warm-up act of your own, and then we'll see if we want to join in?" She glanced to Bluette for support, and Bluette gave it in the form of an enthusiastic nod.

"Fine by me," said Lance, and evidently it was, because although he'd just shot jets all over the upholstery, he was rising to attention again just at the idea of having one of the Flirty Boys get down on his knees and wrap some hot lip-synching lips around his unit.

D.J. couldn't have frozen faster if he'd been dunked in liquid nitrogen. If his eyes had bulged before, they bugged out now like they were going to yo-yo out of their sockets. "Huh?"

"You want to stay, you heard the conditions," Maeve said, daring him with her eyes, though underneath the dare, Bluette sensed a tremor of apprehension – what if D.J. took her up on it, and then she had to follow through?

D.J. risked a look in Lance's direction, quick and scared as if he thought Medusa might be sitting over there and one glimpse would petrify him. Lance, idly rubbing himself, dropped an inviting wink, and D.J. almost leapt out of his skin.

"Huh-uh, no way, not gonna happen!" he announced in a shrill squeak. "This is crazy! This is totally crazy shit!"

Maeve shrugged. "Your stuff is in a grocery bag on the kitchen table."

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out," added Bluette.

"But... but..."

"Sorry," she amended. "Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out."

With a final look of utter wounded disbelief, D.J. backed out of the room on stiltlike legs. Maeve followed to throw him the bag of his belongings; it smacked into his chest and he only caught it by reflex. Bluette, lounging in the bedroom doorway, smirked at him as he tried one last time to beg his ex to reconsider, and Maeve cut him dead with a look.

She slammed the door behind him hard enough to make two fairy dragons and a sculpture of Cinderella's castle leap to their ceramic dooms from a shelf, and watched through the curtains as D.J. presumably tottered down the stairs to his car.

"Fantastic!" Bluette cheered. "Did you see that sorry piece of crap? You were wonderful, Maeve!"

"I can't believe it. I can't believe that really happened!"

"Damn," said Lance. "I was hoping he'd go for it." He had retrieved his clothes and dressed as gracefully as a Chippendales dancer in reverse. "I better get going too. You owe me twelve bucks for the pizza, Bluette. Plus tip."

Bluette rolled her eyes at Maeve. "Most guys would tip us for getting to see what he just got to see." She fished a twenty from her purse and told him to keep the change.

With Lance gone, it abruptly struck Maeve that she was naked. On the heels of that, the rest of the realization of what she'd done loomed over her, poised to topple like a pre-earthquake-code building. She sank against the edge of the kitchen table, blinking.

"Oh, God," she murmured, but there was no orgasmic joy in it this time, only a numbed, stunned shock. "I... you..."

"Mmm-hmm," said Bluette. "And how."

"Was it... convincing?"

"More than convincing." She smiled her most sultry smile. "I'd call it genuine."

Maeve nodded, almost against her will.

"So," Bluette said, "what now?"

"Well..." Maeve blushed and looked shyly at her. "You did say we had unfinished business..."

Bluette grinned and held out her hand. Maeve took it, and they returned to the bedroom together.